Oh but hell and damn
I love who I am
And what I can do
But this much is true
If I can never make good use
Of this great good place
A shining station in the sky
Orbiting a world
I'm sure I'd love to see
It might be time for poetry
To be a thing of the past
Though it will hurt of course
To never again
Yes sit in my throne
And be alone
In the finest surroundings
I could ever have
Given how
I expect to ever live
What's the fucking point
Of being here
And unable to do a single thing
Because boring is what it is
I know I know
Admitting to such a thing
Is a weakness indeed
Because we find us things to do
To keep us from that
So saying I'm bored
That's so boring yes
And as I like to say
That's not me
Yet how can I continue
To bring myself here
And never be able
To make good use
Of what has to be
The most amazing of gifts
That an everyday manageable
Could hope to have